


Like Water Lost In The Sea

by prisonofmemories



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: American Civil War, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonofmemories/pseuds/prisonofmemories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first few times they never even get the chance to meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Water Lost In The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> title from [Feist – How My Heart Behaves](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNYIvIRJJU4)

The first few times they never even get the chance to meet, the struggle for survival preventing them from reaching each other in time and suppressing the gnawing feeling that something is missing, that they should be _looking_. The world is a harsh place, and it’s only when they die and die again that the sense of loss and loneliness consumes their hearts.

*

The ship he is sailing on is called the _Godspeed_ , but Steve doesn’t feel like it’s doing him any good. The prospect of a better life had lured him to this ship, convinced him to try his luck even if his body was weak, but now he can see what a ludicrous idea it was. He’s dying and he knows it.

There’s a young man his age who looks healthy enough to make it, and he keeps sneaking him extra food despite Steve’s protests. The way the ship rocks on the wild sea only makes him nauseous; he hasn’t been able to keep anything down for days.

The man is sitting next to him now, wiping at Steve’s fever-heated brow with a dirty rag, but it’s no use. He will never make it to the New World, and Steve tells him, but the other man just tells him to stop talking to save his strength. He doesn’t have any strength left in him, but he is too weak to tell him so. Instead, he drifts off to sleep, comforted by the steady hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t wake again.

*

There’s a war on. They are all Americans, and yet there are two sides. Steve hates every second of it. He’s on patrol in a wooded area when he trips and falls, foolishly, over the roots of a tree. He hears the crack before he feels it; his lower leg is screaming and he bites down on his sleeve to prevent himself from doing the same. He manages to drag himself towards a tree so he can sit, gun in hand, but he can already hear footsteps approaching.

The man’s coat is the wrong color, but there’s a red cross on his sleeve and when he sees Steve he doesn’t hesitate. Steve lowers his gun, and now he does scream as the man splints his leg, pausing and offering his hand every time the pain gets to be too much.

They realize that they are both tired of the war, tired of the hostility between people who could have been friends in another life, and they find a comforting sort of comradeship with each other as they talk. A warm feeling creeps into Steve’s being, as if talking to this man is the rightest thing he has done in this war, in this _life_ , and he smiles despite the pain.

Suddenly there are footsteps, and three men from Steve’s patrol appear from the bushes. The medic rises to his feet. Everyone freezes; time stops for a brief moment before a shot rings out through the woods without warning, and the medic tumbles to the ground with a sickeningly dull thud. His leg hurts like hell but Steve scrabbles over to the limp body with an inexplicable desperation. It’s too late.

He lives through the war. His side wins, his leg heals well, and he should be happy, but the pale face of the man who helped him in the woods is etched into his memory for the rest of his life.

*

There’s a war on. The trenches are horrifying, all mud and blood and despair, but Steve has found a friend in Bucky, who, despite the hail of bullets and stench of death, never fails to make him smile—sometimes even laugh.

One night, as they are both keeping watch, an exhausted Bucky stumbles into Steve, leaning into him and giving him a lazy smile, murmuring “oh screw this” before softly pressing his lips to Steve’s. Their helmets knock together and they giggle quietly in the dark as the enemy’s bombs go off in the distance. For one night there is no war, no mud, no death.

The following day there is a gas attack, and Steve is too late strapping on his mask. The pain is excruciating, but it’s nothing compared to what he feels when he watches Bucky choke to death.

*

There’s a war on. Steve looks to his right, watching Bucky clean his sniper rifle as he chats amicably with two of the other Commandos, and something inside him shifts. It feels both new and achingly familiar, as if everything is finally _right_ , though he doesn’t know how to place it. His heart flutters when Bucky shoots him a grin.

Four days later he can’t do anything but cling to the side of a moving train as Bucky is ripped away from him, and something deep inside him shatters beyond repair.

He welcomes the ice.

*

There’s a war on, but he refuses to fight. Finding out that Bucky was still alive brought forth a never-ending surge of emotions. Finding out what was done to him only made him feel a level of rage he didn’t know he was capable of.

But Bucky. He refuses to fight Bucky. Seeing him here, trying to stay on his feet as the helicarrier makes its slow but steady descent towards the Potomac, Steve can only wait while observing the war inside Bucky’s head. He knows. Deep down he _has_ to know, and Steve can only hope that Bucky will remember before it’s too late.

He’s still hoping as he’s falling, and then there is nothing.

*

Hope is all he has. He knows who pulled him out of the water, and because he is certain that looking for him isn’t an option, Steve waits.

Steve waits for Bucky, for endless months, until one day he comes home after a long day and his kitchen cabinets are open, there’s a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter, and an unfamiliar shadow in his living room. The shadow shifts and suddenly it’s heartbreakingly familiar.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

His voice is rough from disuse, and Steve can tell that he is very far from okay, but he’s _Bucky_.

A warmth he hasn’t felt for decades slowly spreads through his chest and he cautiously steps closer, reaching out to touch Bucky’s shoulder. But Bucky lets out a strangled sound and, without warning, clings to Steve in a way that would have been painful if not for the serum in his body and the overwhelming sense of relief coursing through his veins. Bucky is trembling so violently that Steve has to lower them to the floor, brushing a kiss to his temple, and Bucky shifts a little, pressing his face into the crook of Steve’s neck.

A flood of memories washes over him like a tidal wave, memories that aren’t his but are, and suddenly Steve knows with a breathtaking clarity that this time they are going to get it right.


End file.
